


Too Close For Comfort

by Akheilos_Aria



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hanzo is touch starved, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, and McCree doesnt know what personal space is, will update tags as I go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-07 06:12:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 15,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11052978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akheilos_Aria/pseuds/Akheilos_Aria
Summary: “Tell me,” McCree turned to look at him with curiosity, as Hanzo struggled to find words that the cowboy could immediately grasp the meaning of. “Do you still approach a rattlesnake when it has shown every intention of biting?” Hanzo set his jaw. It was a warning.McCree blinked, the question hanging for approximately three seconds before he snorted and slipped into a loud, hearty laugh. The sudden noise made the archer finally open his eyes with a start, utterly confused as to how the phrase had lost its meaning. McCree sputtered, wiping a tear with his gloved hand.“Do ya have any idea how much you sounded like Genji and Zenyatta with that fortune cookie talkin’ of yours?”





	1. Chapter 1

It only took three weeks. Three weeks until Hanzo pieced together his mental list of individuals to avoid at Overwatch. Most on the list were, understandably, a loud contrast to the man's quiet and reserved demeanor, such as Hana and Lena. Others, such as Dr. Ziegler and Reinhardt, pried too much into his personal life for his liking. In the three weeks since his recruitment and arrival to Overwatch, Hanzo had figured out who bothered him most frequently.

  
The answer to which one annoyed him the greatest, however, was unclear to him until a chance encounter at the practice range. 

  
It was considerably late, the vast majority of the base already having wound down and retired to their private quarters. Hanzo had wandered to the deserted practice range, shooting targets with his bow to destress. Unable to sleep and unbearably restless, an outlet for his frustration was in dire need. The dim, incandescent lighting of the room did nothing for his troubled thoughts, but it was late enough that he would not be bothered, regardless.

He let his mind wander, becoming mentally absent as he nocked arrow after arrow. He hardly registered the low hum and whir of the facility anymore, the sounds blending into white noise to his ears.

  
He did not hear the door to the practice range slide open. He did not hear the shuffle of boots or the tinny sound of metal spurs that accompanied them. Neither did he hear any of these sounds approaching him. The senses were dulled in favor of focusing on the meticulous task of aiming, the low strum of the bowstring as he released it, and the ever-present haze of concentration clouding his mind.

  
Hanzo nocked another arrow, inhaling to adjust his posture, before feeling a hand clap itself onto his left shoulder and hearing a two-pitch, impressed whistle directly behind him.

  
"Damn, pretty handy with that bow, aren't ya?" The compliment earned a reaction sprung by instinct, let loose before restraint could kick in. Before either of them knew it, the stranger had been flipped onto the ground, arm in a tight grip and a metal knee digging between his shoulderblades. A short gasp was heard, the wind thoroughly knocked out of the man who was now pinned by the startled archer, head turned to the side uncomfortably.

"Who are you?" Hanzo shot a look to the man on the floor, who reached for his hat with his free hand.

  
"I... m’ name's McCree- can ya let me go now?"

  
The name sounded somewhere in Hanzo's memory, but vaguely. As McCree was freed and put his hat back on, it clicked. He remembered conversations where the name came up, meetings where he'd seen that ridiculous western getup, and moments where he had heard that slow southern drawl from passing chatter. It was almost astonishing that they hadn't properly met yet, given the facility's morals of teamwork and bonding.

  
"Oh. The cowman." Hanzo just barely resisted the scoff forming at his lips, instead brushing off his shoulder- the one that McCree had touched moments prior, and resuming his usual, slightly disdained expression. It never took him very long to regain his composure on the rare occasions where he lost it. 

  
"You're a real jumpy fella, you know that?" McCree said once he was released from the archer’s grip. He himself appeared slightly miffed now, his clothes and hair being slightly ruffled from being unceremoniously tossed on the floor. His look reminded Hanzo of a bird who'd just missed its landing and embarrassed itself.

  
"If by 'jumpy', you mean I expect my personal space and solitude to not be intruded on by a stranger, then yes. I can be counted as a jumpy individual." Hanzo rolled his shoulders, still feeling the ghost of a handprint on his skin, before nocking the last arrow from the quiver onto his bow. He hoped his disinterest would deter further conversation from McCree. It did not.

  
"Where'd ya learn to shoot like that, anyhow?" The cowboy's focus went back to Hanzo's skillful archery, which was met with the pitched strum of the bowstring then a thick, heavy silence. "...its a trade secret, gotcha."

  
"Please find someone else to pester," Hanzo huffed in thinly-veiled annoyance, climbing over the guardrail to retrieve his arrows from the targets. McCree had raised his hands up in a defensive, defeated gesture as he passed by him, quietly shuffling out of the room at the request. The archer heaved a sigh of relief at the resumed stillness of the room, once again alone with his thoughts.

  
By no means was it a pleasant encounter, and he still felt the awkwardness of it all prickling at the base of his spine. There was no concept of boundaries for that man, at least, none that were ever acknowledged. The imprint still hadn't left his skin, and Hanzo rubbed the area to alleviate the unfamiliar feeling of it, quietly packing up his equipment and heading back to his assigned living quarters.

  
The cowboy, he decided, was his least favorite to talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are any grammar or spelling mistakes, let me know! I think I've scraped this thing clean of typos, but it's very likely I missed something.


	2. Chapter 2

Mornings at the Eichenwalde Base were still, chilly, with a blanket of silence that deterred even the songbirds from speaking. It was the ideal location for meditation, and Hanzo quickly favored this base over the slightly crowded location in America. The agents were gradually being spread out to inhabit and repair Overwatch’s old centers of operation.

However, since small groups were being assigned by Winston based on team synergy, this meant Hanzo was unable to choose who he went with. This caused complications for the aloof introvert.  
The sound of approaching heavy footsteps both confirmed and interrupted Hanzo’s thoughts, each step accompanied by the almost unnoticeable tink of spurs. Just when he thought he’d found the earliest hour imaginable to avoid the others, a certain cowboy had to find a way to disrupt him. It almost seemed deliberate, the way he was sought out on the balcony and greeted with a-

“Howdy,” McCree’s relaxed and heavy accent rang behind him, as it had in the past two days. Hanzo did not stir, having expected the unwanted company by now, and remained seated.

Usually, the presence was followed by the scent of cigar smoke, like the first morning, or old whiskey from the previous night, like the second morning. However, this time it was a less jarring smell, rich and deep, but nonetheless unfamiliar to the japanese man. As McCree settled down next to him, he received his answer: a large mug, which was dwarfed by the size of the hand holding it, filled with a dark drink. Coffee.

No words were exchanged. The air between them hung heavy like the fog surrounding them, stifling the atmosphere. McCree shifted to get comfortable, his metal hand just barely making contact with Hanzo’s back. He immediately tensed. They were entirely too close.

“Tell me,” McCree turned to look at him with curiosity, as Hanzo struggled to find words that the cowboy could immediately grasp the meaning of. “Do you still approach a rattlesnake when it has shown every intention of biting?” Hanzo set his jaw. It was a warning.

McCree blinked, the question hanging for approximately three seconds before he snorted and slipped into a loud, hearty laugh. The sudden noise made the archer finally open his eyes with a start, utterly confused as to how the phrase had lost its meaning. McCree sputtered, wiping a tear with his gloved hand.

“Do ya have any idea how much you sounded like Genji and Zenyatta with that fortune cookie talkin’ of yours?”

“Cease,” Hanzo had recovered his composure, squinting at the younger man.

“ ‘sides, you act as if I ain’t never dealt with rattlesnakes before,” He held up his metal appendage in mock emphasis before continuing. “If ya handle ‘em right, they don’t ever feel the need to strike.” Hanzo furrowed his brow, holding a moment of silence.  
“...is that really how you lost your arm?”

“Nah, that was my own stupid fault.” McCree took a hefty swig of his coffee, polishing it off before getting up and patting Hanzo’s shoulder.

“Perhaps I’ll tell ya sometime.” The cowboy left without another word, presumably to refill his mug. Hanzo pursed his lips, holding his hand over the unfamiliar feeling on his shoulder. It held an indescribable weight, and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. His mind had begun to busy itself with trying to decipher the meaning behind his words, struggling to process them. Were they ever talking about rattlesnakes to begin with?

The rest of the day passed slowly, like a barely leaking faucet tasked with filling a swimming pool. The agonizing weight of minutes forced Hanzo to overthink everything surrounding him. Were the shelves disorganized purposely to annoy him? Was Winston torturing him by placing him with the loudest agents? Or was it to build tolerance towards them? Did Hana seriously not roll the cereal bag up before putting it away?

These questions swirled around in his mind as Hanzo stared with discontent into the open cereal box, whose contents were already turning stale with the humidity. He sealed it up with a scoff, placing the box back in the cabinet. They acted like children, and he felt this was a form of punishment for what he did to Genji. That thought made it more bearable.

Hanzo’s mind wandered to his brother, who’d been stationed in Nepal, which felt like an eternity away. The demeanor expressed by the cyborg was painfully friendly and forgiving towards the older brother, and he had to swallow his guilt trying to accept it. He didn’t deserve it. He probably never would. But if babysitting his teammates brought him a little bit closer towards redemption, so be it.

As if right on cue, a certain thirty-seven year old child entered the kitchen to refill his mug for the… Hanzo couldn’t even remember how many cups of coffee McCree had had at that point. It was almost mortifying to think of how much caffeine he must have consumed by now. His expression must have been drastic, because the cowboy almost startled when he saw the man’s face behind him.

“...uh, did I do something to ruffle your feathers?” McCree’s free hand went up to rub his neck, uncharacteristically nervous for once.

“Are you trying to make your kidneys go into shock?”

“It’s jus’ a lil pick-me-up.”

“How many ‘pick-me-up’s have you had?”

“Jus’ ‘bout five now, why?”

“The doctor is going to kill you.”

“She ain’t gonna kill me if she don’t know,” McCree took a sip from the mug, catching sight of Hanzo giving him a look that was followed by his arms being crossed. He nearly spit out his drink. “Don’t you dare.”

Hanzo glanced at the communicator on the table, then to the mug, then the kitchen sink. He said nothing, and nothing was said to him. It was a battle of wits, and a clear victor was already decided.

McCree poured out the remainder of the coffee. Hanzo held back a smirk, but was given a light, teasing shove as the cowboy left the kitchen. 

He felt his skin prickle at the sensation again, but chose to ignore it in favor of an annoyed grunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey its the part from the summary


	3. Chapter 3

The cowboy seemed to be elbowing and bumping his way into Hanzo’s personal space more and more often. At first, it just appeared to be a difference in temperament. Jesse was loud, obnoxious, and found himself more comfortable when he’s in a literal group hug. Hanzo preferred a brooding solitude where he could indulge himself in logical thought. It was a clash of personalities. The presence of Hana and Lúcio on the base did not ease the tension, however, rather encouraging McCree’s intrusive and aggravatingly laid-back behavior.

 

To distract himself from the pestering of the other three, Hanzo busied himself with getting the technical facilities in operation once more. These activities included fixing switches, loose boards, and staying on calls with Winston (which were often interrupted) to get the comm system working efficiently again. The others were tasked with the more physical labor, such as cleaning and hauling equipment.

 

Hanzo’s attention was brought to a broken cabinet under the sink. As he knelt down and investigated the rusted hinge, a silver glint in the cabinet caught his eye. Tin? Aluminum? He reached into the cupboard to find whatever might have been left behind by the old Overwatch.

 

It was dozens of canned rations, surely inedible past their expiration date thirty years prior. The fact that such a cache went unnoticed for decades bewildered him, except for the memory of Winston’s own cluttered work area. Then, the abandoned food cache suddenly made more sense.

 

He spent a completely unreasonable amount of time mulling over expired cans, his fingers brushing over the worn labels as he examined remnants of a different time. He only just barely heard footsteps behind him before he saw a familiar metal hand clamp on the counter above him. It was soon followed by the presence of a large body making contact with his back.

 

“Don’t mind me, darlin’, jus’ getting a glass,” The smooth voice called down to him before he could make any form of insult.

 

“You could not have waited until I was finished with fixing the hinges?” Hanzo grit his teeth. He felt he needed to give a sharp stab into the stomach of the other man to establish some space between them, but something made him hesitate.

 

“Ain’t gonna be but a moment,” Hanzo felt McCree lean more against the counter, and him as well, making his face heat up slightly. Then, before he knew it, the contact was gone, and so was McCree. However, the faint blush and shame remained, raising questions in the archer’s mind. What was that?

 

* * *

 

 

A few days had passed before they got the base working reliably enough on its own. Once the diagnostic reports and details reached Winston, he dispatched their small team to tackle a recent rumor of Talon supply lines nearby. While it was no cross-world trip, it still required air transport.

 

This is where the problems started to arise. The plane was only really big enough for a couple passengers. It had enough space for the four of them, but just barely. Hana and Lúcio cracked jokes in the set of seats in front of Hanzo, while he and McCree were packed into the back seats. The arrangement was not the most favorable.

 

Though it was only supposed to be a short distance, it still kept them traveling for a good couple of hours into the late afternoon. Hanzo could only bear with small talk for so long before it made his head numb. McCree, on the other hand, could talk for days if you gave him a glass of water and a topic. It was agonizing. At some point, Hanzo simply crossed his arms, closed his eyes, and sat in meditation to block out the voices.

 

He did not know when the hum of the plane’s engine lulled him to sleep, only that he woke up to darkening skies. The trip would be over soon, in theory. The excited chatter from earlier was no longer prevalent, which meant either the others were preoccupied, or followed his example to take a nap. The strange silence gave him room to focus on his surroundings and space to freely think without distraction.

 

He was comfortably warm, and prepared himself for the neck pains that usually came from sleeping in cramped spaces. But the ache never came. Instead, his head rested on a soft, but firm support, with his cheek against a worn fabric. He found himself covered by a blanket of some sort to block from the wind chill, with the source of warmth coming from his makeshift pillow.

 

It took a couple minutes for his sleep-addled mind to fully process this information, but once it did, Hanzo froze in his spot. He was sleeping against the man beside him, wrapped up in his serape, huddled for warmth like some pitiful child. Embarrassment flooded to his face in a shameful display of realization, his heart hammering in his chest with the force of a frustrated blacksmith.

 

McCree’s breathing was slow and deep, with a steady heartbeat that served as a stark contrast to the rapid one beside him. His signature hat was tipped over his face, which meant ‘do not disturb’ in cowboy body language. Either he had not noticed Hanzo using his arm as a headrest, or sincerely did not mind. One thing was certain, however: McCree had draped the serape over the sleeping archer beside him.

 

Hanzo had two options: leave the comfortable heat of the cowboy’s presence and pretend it never happened to save what dignity he had, or stay still to convince them he was still asleep and blame it on McCree. He chose the former, quietly and carefully shuffling out of the embrace. He struggled to calm the heat rising to his cheeks, his efforts becoming more desperate as he heard the breaths of the sleeping man turn shallower and more controlled.

 

It was dark enough that his flustered expression went unnoticed, but Hanzo spent the rest of the flight in dead silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try staggering chapter updates to every couple days, while I still have the option. Or every 1000 hits or something, who knows!


	4. Chapter 4

“Hey guys, am I in the lines?” Hana’s giggly tone crackled over the comm as she parked her MEKA in an empty parking lot. Entirely unnecessary for the surveillance they were assigned, but she was having fun with it, so Hanzo paid no mind to the frivolity of it.

 

“Lil close to the right, sweetpea.” McCree’s slow voice echoed over the comm, followed by a low chuckle to the comment. Hanzo could not help but roll his eyes, a smile threatening to creep onto his face from the corner of his mouth. He did not actively engage in the shenanigans, just listening to the conversation as he got into position. He found purchase in the wall of the small belltower, hoisting himself into the alcove that held the bell itself.

 

“Repositioning!” Hana’s bubbly tone chimed through the comm. He readied Stormbow and got himself comfortable, expecting a long stakeout.

 

“Hanzo, darlin’, where are ya?” McCree called over the radio channel. Hanzo made a face at the pet name, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

 

“Do not call me ‘darling’. And the point of my location is that they are unable to find me,” He replied over the comm.

 

“But I gotta know where ya are in case I need’ta swoop in and save ya,”

 

“I highly doubt that will be necessary, this is just surveillance,” He paused, clicking his tongue. “But for communication purposes, I am in the belltower, directly east of Lúcio’s position.”

 

“Alright, thanks a bunch, sugarplum!” The sickly sweet nicknames almost made Hanzo gag.

 

“Do not call me that, either,”

 

“Can you old guys stop flirting over the comm? It’s so gross!” Hana chimed over the comm, making fake retching noises. Lúcio’s laugh rang soon after.

 

“We are not-” Hanzo started to defend himself.

 

“Shucks, sorry Hana! Jus’ couldn’t help myself,” McCree followed with a chuckle.

 

“I am going to throw my earpiece into the sea,” Hanzo’s comment came after a heavy moment of silence, followed by several voices of protest coming from the others. It ended the teasing, but a faint blush still remained on his cheeks.

 

Their watch lasted through the night, with hardly any activity to make notice of. The small town hardly had much besides a corner grocery store, gas station, and the church that kept the belltower. Small mines dotted the outskirts of the town, a dusty relic of a busier time. Scarce chat passed over the intercom, and at one point, snoring was heard. 

 

Just as twilight started clawing its way into the horizon, and they were about to call it a bust, a vehicle caught Hanzo’s attention. It was a seemingly inconspicuous truck, except for the crates it carried, and the angular insignia plastered on the side.

 

He jumped up, nocking an arrow and preparing to warn the others before he froze in place. A harsh whistle swept by his ear, followed by a sharp stinging sensation and a loud peal as it made contact with the large bell behind him. The overwhelming sound only amplified the pain of his ear, and he ducked for cover in the tower.

 

“They have a sniper- they saw me-” Hanzo grit his teeth, glancing around one of the pillars to find the vehicle. He realized his mistake as another bullet grazed his temple, making him sink back into his hiding spot. 

 

“Hanzo, are ya okay? I’m headed over there to cover y-” McCree’s voice echoed into the earpiece, heavy with worry.

 

“Do not bother, I am changing location. Hana, the truck is headed your way.” Hanzo brushed a hand over his temple, finding a slow, but steady trickle of blood from the wound.

 

“Roger!” Hana’s chipper voice responded over the comm, followed by the whirring of her MEKA unit activating. Hanzo sighed in relief and carefully started climbing down the other side of the tower. The sound of approaching gunfire almost made him lose his footing, but he quickly composed himself and ducked off to the side of the building.

 

“Two more leaving the truck on foot,” Lúcio called over the comm, before the communicator cut off. The sound of heavy footfall echoed down the street closest to him, before the sound of a revolver rang through the air. McCree had decided to ignore his demands and cover him anyway.

 

Hanzo made quick work of relocating himself to one of the abandoned mineshafts at the border of town, before another bullet tore through his shoulder. It succeeded in making him fall to his knees, but did not stop him from drawing his bow and launching a recon arrow to find the sniper. It found its target, lighting a beacon for the others while he sprinted to the mineshaft.

 

“Hanzo, watch out-!” The shout was followed by a full force tackle from his teammate, whose frantic footsteps had covered the clatter of metal tossed onto the pavement. Confusion and anger clouded the archer’s thoughts, but were stopped just short of being spoken. A deafening clap sounded nearby, followed by the bright flash of an explosion.

 

McCree had thrown them into the mineshaft, just barely out of the blast radius of the small explosive. His body had blocked most of the damage from the blast, but did not stop the impact of Hanzo’s head hitting the ground. Instantly, an overwhelming pain erupted from the wound and pulsed through his body. He felt the dragon spirit within him bristle with cataclysmic rage, but his mind was already fading.

 

Dark spots began clouding his vision, the sight of crumbling structure hidden from him as he fell unconscious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try not to leave it on a cliffhanger for too long, but I still need to space out the chapters.


	5. Chapter 5

“....No, I stopped the bleedin’, but his head’s rattled somethin’ fierce…” A hoarse voice spoke quietly through the dark, slowly coaxing Hanzo out of the grasp of unconsciousness. He found his mind incredibly foggy, dizziness swamping him at every slight movement. He chose to stay still instead, falling in and out of focus.

“... Look, I respect ya, honeybun, but I can’t get out of here on my own, and the other two can’t clear it neither…” The voice spoke again, in heated discussion with someone over the comm system. Hanzo was now able to make out the tiny sound of the other person talking over the earpiece.

“...I don’t even care if you have to send the junkers to clear a hole outta this place. Just send someone, Winston…” The person speaking sounded exhausted, and almost desperate. Hanzo tried to sit up, but was hit with an intense wave of vertigo, collapsing back onto his cushion with a low grunt of pain. His head rested against a soft, yet solid form.

“Woah, easy there, darlin’, you need to keep still.” This hit Hanzo with realization of the situation.

“I told you... not to call me that.” He tried to sit up again, but was forced back down with a gentle hand.

“Heh, m’ bad- Oh, howdy, Doc…” McCree fell into another hushed conversation over the comm. His voice was husky and tired, fatigue dripping from every word. How long had the man been awake? How long had he himself been unconscious?

McCree’s hand had not left his forehead, the warmth of his touch bringing comfort to his foggy mind for unknown reasons. Before, he’d been desperate to remove all physical contact with the other man, but now he could not exert enough energy to care, or perhaps he had become desensitized to his presence.

“....I understand, Angel- sorry, couldn’t resist. I’ll watch over him, just.. just try to hurry, alright? Thank you.” McCree heaved a heavy sigh, laying his head back against the cool rock with an audible wince. He was not the only one who sustained injuries.

“...How... long?” Hanzo kept his voice low, unable to manage anything much louder.

“Help’s comin’ in a few hours, we’ll be okay.” Hanzo went quiet at the answer, shuffling uneasily in the inky darkness. Three hours. He can manage that. Probably. 

He tried to sit up once more, but before the hand on his head could stop him, sharp pain ripping through his shoulder did first. He fell back onto McCree’s lap, hand clamped tightly over his mouth to muffle the choked cry of distress.

“Hey there, I got the bullet out, but that doesn’t mean you should be movin’ around that much. Jus’ sit tight and relax.” Hanzo clicked his tongue in annoyance once he’d recovered from the ache.

“You are a fool... if you think that I will just sit idly, while I am able to do something.” McCree seemed caught off guard by this, hesitating before retorting. 

“Well, that really sucks for you, now don’t it? ‘Cause you ain’t movin’ ‘til Mercy gets here,” He paused before adding, “And I don’t much take kindly to you callin’ me an idiot.” They went silent for a long time, the atmosphere heavy with tension.

“I apologize, cowman,”

“Close, but not quite,”

“Cowboy,”

“Getting warmer,”

“American,”

“Warmer,” 

Hanzo paused, shifting his head to face away from the other man.

“...Caffeine addict.”

“Oh- bless your heart, Hanzo,” McCree fell into a tired chuckle, his hand shifting to the top of Hanzo’s hairline.

“...What does that mean?”

“It’s just a sayin’, don’t worry over it too hard,”

“You... puzzle me,”

“Maybe, but you’re plenty confusin’ yourself,”

Hanzo clicked his tongue again, turning his head to steady the dizzying throb that plagued his skull. He pictured vines blooming from the wound in the back of his head, sprawling throughout his cranium and strangling his brain of all his memories and thoughts, like an infestation seeking to get rid of him. He tried to imagine flowers blossoming from these vines, but paused in the progress of his mental picture. What kind of flowers would he even produce? Definitely some of a blue hue, much like violets. He chuckled aloud at the thought of flowers popping out from his ears.

“...Han, you alright there d- buddy? You’re lookin’ like you just been spun silly by a whirlpool down there,” McCree’s concerned voice brought him back from his train of thought, though he remained in his stupor.

“...spun.. silly?...whirlpool? I am not swimming,” Hanzo turned his head back up to face the man looking down at him, squinting his confusion. The inky darkness prevented any progress being made from it, however.

“Aw hell, how am I s’posed to tell Angela you gone cattywampus on me? Fuck, she’s gonna wring my neck…” Hanzo soon found that the more that McCree became distressed, the less he could actually understand what the hell he was saying.

“My…. cat- what?” His question fell on deaf ears as the other man continued to ramble incessantly above him, throwing out at least another half dozen idioms before Hanzo simply stopped listening. Trying to make sense of McCree’s southern jargon only sought to make him dizzier than he already was. Exhaustion started to tug at his eyelids, like a child seeking their parent’s attention. His focus faltered once more, the words of the other man slowly becoming white noise.


	6. Chapter 6

_ The image of the vines appeared again, spreading over his skull and spilling out over the skin. They continued to weave and invade far past the throat, forming an invasive cage of plant latticework. The pain continued to manifest as a pulsing ache, much like a heartbeat, but slower, and far more harrowing. He let it happen, even though his head felt close to splitting in two. There was no other option but to yield. _

 

_ It became lighter, the pulsing still constant and steady, but it no longer held as much weight against him. The vines had caught his left arm now, but they did not spread further.  _

 

_ Blue petals started to spot in Hanzo’s vision, slowly enveloping his form. Violets? No, that was inaccurate, they were smaller, sharper, and...colder. They did not carry the same warmth that violets did, instead bringing a unsettling familiarity. He remembered Hanamura’s castle garden, the vast diversity of flowers they planted, and the one flower that they refused to cultivate. Distant, frigid,  _ hostile _. _

 

_ Hanzo was blue hydrangea. Unreachable, apathetic, regretful. The flower of refusal. The realization struck him cold, pain erupting with a more intense fervor. Sinister, pale-blue flowers sprang up across his arm, choking out his control of the limb. _

 

_ He was rejection. _

 

_ The vines started to constrict, choking out a single, white-green blossom of the flower. The tendrils were writhing in a sickening familiar display, their form becoming more and more monstrous as time passed. Soon, no longer was he staring at flowers and vines, but at silhouettes, and at creatures born from distrust and animosity. Gaping maws snapped and hissed with malice, tearing a figure into green petals, and bathing the scene in a frigid, blue light. _

 

_ He was rejection, and he had rejected his brother. _

 

Hanzo woke with a start, bolting upright entirely too fast and sending his head reeling to catch up. It was cold- way too cold. He still felt that frosty blue light freezing him over in ice, despite the darkness his eyes found. His skin still crawled with the ghosts of teeth and scales, making the dragon spirit within him stir in trepidation, rather than fury. Just as the tattoo on his arm began a dim glow from his panic, he was met with a warm hand on his shoulder.

 

“Whoa- hey, slow your roll, are you alright?” McCree’s familiar voice spoke through the blanket of murkiness around him, though it did nothing to ease the residual turmoil from the nightmare. Hanzo scrambled away from the physical contact, regretting it instantly as both pain and the bitter chill bit at his wounds. Already, he missed the brief closeness.

 

“I- my… roll?” His words were slurred, thick with confusion and disorientation. The wavering in his voice betrayed his lack of composure, tears welling up in his eyes. Why was he on the verge of crying?

 

“Take it easy, you’re still hurt pretty bad. Help will be comin’ soon, I reckon.” Hanzo vaguely registered the voice coming from his left, guessing at McCree’s location in the dark. He reached his hand out in front of him, feeling around blindly until his fingers grasped fabric. This earned a low noise of surprise from McCree, who had been caught off guard.

 

“What’re ya doin th-” McCree sputtered in slight bewilderment before being interrupted.

 

“The blanket,” The demand was flat, made even more serious with the voice of the stuck-up who said it.

 

“...my serape?”

 

“Yes, it is freezing,”

 

“I know that, it’s why ‘m wearin’ it,”

 

“You have an abundance of layers, you can spare one.”

 

McCree did not respond verbally to this, though a quiet shuffling was heard in the silence. Hanzo waited, idly rubbing his exposed arm to calm the dragon under his skin. The spirit appeared complacent for the moment being, but their restlessness made him uneasy. His patience was rewarded with the heft of heated wool draped over him, as well as the presence of a warm body pressed against his side.

 

“We can just share it, if that’s fine with you,” The cowboy settled into his spot, falling silent once more. Hanzo’s mind tore itself into two separate instincts- one fighting to get away at any cost, the other seeking the warmth and comfort in the embrace of the other man. They struggled for dominance over his actions, two forces caught in indefinite stalemate. He did not move either away or towards McCree.

 

He was frozen, conflicted. He sat as a statue, rigid and unyielding to the whims of the conflict within him. The standoff went unresolved, leaving Hanzo uncomfortable, and without answer.

 

Then McCree gave him one, as if sensing the problem he faced. Hanzo felt a hand go around his back, then stop before it finished its path to his shoulder. Hesitation. It almost brought Hanzo to a chuckle with the change in demeanor. It completely conflicted with the image that he had pieced together of the easy-going gunslinger. Of all times,  _ now _ he was afraid of overstepping his boundaries?

 

The side of him that wanted no part in physical contact was overpowered into submission, and as a result, he willingly leaned into McCree’s comforting warmth. Even though part of him was still uneasy about the awkwardness of it all, Hanzo suppressed that train of thought. To hell with dignity or honor, he was tired and cold. He could blame it on his concussion later.

 

McCree seemed to take this gesture as permission, pulling him into the embrace. It was pleasant, with a silence that neither of them broke. Any spoken words would have ruined it. Hanzo indulged himself in the opportunity to simply forget who he was, where he was, and where he had to go. He let his guard down and felt the weight of built-up tension rolling off of his shoulders. He allowed his mind to go blank, letting himself enjoy the safety and security of the moment.

 

For just a little while, Hanzo let himself be acceptance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters for double exp weekend, as promised.
> 
> EDIT: I realize my error with writing the concussion, and will be working to amend it in a future chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

 

The next week was a slow heartbeat. There were long stretches of time that Hanzo was unable to remember, then moments of full awareness that he could recall. Throughout his stay in the medical wing of Overwatch HQ, he could not remember a single visit. Of course, a small pile of get well gifts and cards had grown on the small table beside his bed- but any memory of people placing them there would escape him.

 

“Post-Traumatic Anterograde Amnesia,” Dr. Ziegler had called it, setting a record for how quickly she could confuse everyone in the room with her medical jargon. “Temporary, from the looks of it. It should cure itself in time. I suggest being patient with him until it does,” Hanzo remembered the conversation through the fog clouding his mind, though not to whom or when it had happened.

 

It was frustrating, having to struggle with figuring out how much time had passed and where he was. There were times that he woke from his sedated stupor feeling incredibly lost, before the stark smell of disinfectant and chemicals brought him back to the med bay. It became an unpleasant cycle, but over time, the effects gradually faded.

 

After sitting for eight days in that uncomfortably sterile environment, Hanzo nearly hugged Dr. Ziegler out of gratitude when he was finally discharged. He restrained himself, however. It would have been very awkward for everyone involved.

 

Receiving some gentle chiding from the Doctor and being handed a small cocktail of prescriptions, he soon found himself back in his own living quarters. The privacy and silence was soothing, even if he did have to readjust to the now-unfamiliar smell of his room.

 

Hanzo hadn’t quite been given the opportunity to make the space his own yet, but there were small things he managed to put effort into. Small tea candles, which had long since outlived their usefulness, sat on the plain dresser next to the bed. An incense holder stood nestled among the candles, dirty with ashes left uncleaned. Aside from a dusty set of sake cups, these were the only decorations he had.

 

The plain emptiness of the room made his gifts stand out, small packages wrapped with colored paper and letters written on pastel cardstock. The fact that he had gotten anything at all surprised him. Wasn’t he largely avoided, if not entirely disliked? The thought was pushed out of his mind. Once his eye was drawn to the presents, Hanzo remembered that he hadn’t actually gotten the chance to inspect them.

 

His hands found a dark blue card first, with generic blocky designs stenciled in yellow on the front. Dark stains marked the edges of the paper, as well as appearing in the form of faint fingerprints. It was simple, but handmade. He opened the card to read the message inside.

 

> Get well soon, and be sure to wear armor next time. It’ll protect yer noggin better than that ponytail.
> 
>  
> 
> -Torbjörn
> 
>  

Hanzo blinked, caught off guard. He never expected the standoffish engineer to send him regards. Though, looking back, he had caught Torbjörn eyeing his prosthetics with the kind of interest that a jeweler shows when inspecting precious gems. Perhaps he could be a person that Hanzo would be able to hold a pleasant conversation with.

 

He made a mental note to ask the engineer about armor later, and put his attention towards the next card. It was pale pink, with a gloss finish. Holographic stickers and a ridiculous amount of glitter coated both the back and front of it. He brushed his hands on his pants and made a face of disdain, knowing fully well the glitter would be staying as a permanent roommate from now on, before finally opening the card up to see the letter.  

 

> I hope you get better soon!! I’m sorry I wasn’t able to keep it from happening, but I’ll do better next time!
> 
>  
> 
> -Your favorite noob, D.Va

 

The rookie’s letter left a pang in Hanzo’s chest. She didn’t have much experience in combat, and their mission had probably been her first assignment. He’d gotten badly hurt, and she must feel guilty about it. He set her card to the side, making sure to remember to talk with her later about it.

 

The last card made his heart sink into his stomach with uncertainty. Not uncertainty about who it was from, the short message in kanji on the front gave it away, but nervousness arose because of what may be written inside. Hanzo furrowed his brow, tracing the lines of the typography with his eyes.

 

Genji’s handwriting had hardly changed since they were younger. It was sloppy in an endearing way, the lines as carefree as the man who wrote them. Even as most of him was now machine, and he had matured spiritually, this was one of the things that assured him that it was still his brother, after all. They’d both changed.

 

Hanzo stopped procrastinating, finally opening Genji’s card. If the front was reminiscent of Genji’s younger self, then the inside was just like staring at his baby brother himself. The kanji written here was definitely more relaxed than the cover, and sloppy doodles covered the bottom half of the page.

 

> Please get better soon.
> 
> I can’t justly spar with you
> 
> if you sleep so much.
> 
>  
> 
> ~Love, Genji

 

Hanzo held a hand over his mouth, unable to contain the smile that appeared. That huge dork had even written it as a haiku. He sat for ages, reading and rereading the letter, letting flutters of nostalgia in his chest overtake him again and again. Though, after a while, the warm feeling became tinged with sadness. He had to put the letter away to regain his composure.

 

 

Hanzo turned back towards the rest of the gifts, and found a small, pale green bundle of tissue paper, set with a small tag.

 

> Wishing for a speedy recovery,
> 
>  
> 
> -Lúcio
> 
>  

It was a short message, but still brought a bit of warmth. It was just like him, friendly but respectful. The tissue paper sheltered a carefully wound pair of earbuds, deep green decorated with gold details around the earpieces. Knowing Lúcio’s area of expertise, the earbuds may very well give him a speedy recovery.

 

Hanzo let his focus drift to the last item, a huge, flat box. The length alone was three quarters of his height, but the width only half as long as his arm. It wasn’t wrapped, nor did he see any form of name written on it. Puzzling thoughts aside, he shook off his uneasiness and opened the box.

 

A familiar sight greeted him, his leather quiver and Stormbow resting in a nest of foam. He felt a knot of anxiety, but also relief, form at the base of his spine. He had left his bow back in Germany. There was no reason it should be sitting here before him. Granted, he was glad to have it back, but the circumstances surrounding it stopped any kind of rejoice.

 

All of his arrows were there too, neatly tucked away in the quiver. Hadn’t he shot a good few of them? Hanzo furrowed his brow in confusion, before taking notice of a small card pinned under the bowstring. It was plain, with no decorations in any form. Already, it stood out from the other cards.

 

Inside, the handwriting was something akin to chickenscratch, slanted and thin. They wrote in all capital letters, though rather than placing emphasis through it, it appeared as simply how the other person had learned to write. Loud letters for loud thoughts.

 

> CATTYWAMPUS
> 
> KAT-EE-WOM-PUH S,
> 
> -ADJECTIVE
> 
>   1. ASKEW, AWRY.
>   2. POSITIONED DIAGONALLY; CATER-CORNERED.
> 

> 
>  
> 
> -JESSE

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

“You’ve got something on your mind,” A familiar voice sounded behind Hanzo, breaking his concentration. It was earlier than sunrise, an hour that he’d found that he would not be interrupted in aside from a few kindred spirits. One such early riser like himself just disrupted his meditation, taking a seat beside him.

 

“I always meditate, there is nothing troubling me,” Hanzo lied through his teeth, turning his head to meet the green visor staring back. Even without expression, Genji’s gaze bore down on him with the knowing skepticism only a brother could.

 

“You mean sulking, right? You always hide away like this when something’s bothering you,” It irked him how easily his brother was able to unravel his mind and thoughts like this, as if there wasn’t a point in trying to hide it. Even through the mask, Hanzo could just tell Genji was already grinning ear-to-ear. He scoffed, turning back towards the horizon.

 

“I do not sulk.” He pursed his lips, furrowing his brow.

 

“There! Right there, you’re totally sulking right now.” Genji pointed a finger into his arm, his small laughter turned electronic through the visor. This earned him a huff of contempt from the older brother, and he persisted. “You can tell me what’s wrong, you know.” A heavy silence fell over the two, expanding the two feet between them into two oceans of concrete. It took him a long time to gather his thoughts, but finally, Hanzo spoke up against the quiet.

 

“...I sincerely thought they all hated me. They had distrust in their eyes, and seemed to be whispering ‘brother-killer’ any time they looked at me,” He paused, avoiding Genji’s gaze. “...but seeing the get-well cards and the gifts, they really wanted me to have a quick recovery,” He went quiet again, balling up his fists in the fabric of his pants. “I dislike being uncertain with anything, you know that, but I can’t help but feel so confused.”

 

“You have to realize that not everyone dislikes you as much as you believe they should,” The younger brother stood up, putting a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “You’re not a bad person, just misguided. Don’t forget that,” No sooner did that pressure on his shoulder disappear did he yearn for its presence to return. Genji was gone.

 

He felt cold, again. The morning chill bit through his thin clothes, taunting him about the warmth he no longer had. It kept him grounded, preventing images of blue petals from clouding his vision. Though why that thought had come to his mind, puzzled him greatly.

 

Hanzo picked himself up, and headed back inside, facing away from the sunrise behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the morning was heavy, swirling stormclouds obscuring the new sun and choking out the golden light. The humidity was even worse, making it feel like breathing soup. Most agents chose to stay indoors, the darkness outside warning of rain that was yet to come. It left an eerie, unsettling atmosphere in the halls of the headquarters.

 

It was never hard to match the sound of footsteps to their owner, and set that gait apart from others. One could easily tell the click of Dr. Ziegler’s heels, the uneven stomp of Jamie’s peg-leg, and the thunderous steps of Reinhardt’s massive presence from each other. Hanzo almost prided himself on knowing these distinctions, mentally recording who hurried past behind him in the surrounding hallways.

 

He’d settled down in the library, which was now repurposed into an archive of reports and newspapers, by the huge window the room supported. From here he could observe the developing storm in safety, sheltered from the inevitable downpour. It was soothing, watching the clouds turn and collide with each other, all fighting their own wars and battles in the sky.

 

Through the stillness, he heard more footsteps. The click of lightskates; Lúcio. The sounds of well-worn boots; Hana, presumably. The slap of palms on the tile; Winston. Hanzo paused as the last one approached the library-turned-archive. Shortly after, the sliding doors opened to reveal the gorilla himself.

 

“Oh- Mr. Shimada, I didn’t expect you to be in here.” Winston adjusted his glasses, making his way over to a filing cabinet overstuffed with reports.

 

“I did not expect company, myself,” Hanzo shifted in the worn chair, interrupting the silence with a question. “What are you looking for?” Winston began to sift through some of the documents within the cabinet, with a perplexed look on his face, his brow furrowed, and focused on the task at hand. He didn’t want to seem like he was ignoring Hanzo, not at all. At the same time, however, something was sticking out in Winston’s mind like a pin needle.

 

“There are some specific reports that seem to be...well, I’m not entirely sure, actually. All I know is something isn’t right.” Winston then glanced back over at Hanzo for a minute, trying to lighten things up. “N-Not to worry you, of course! I hope-er...doubt, it’s something that’s going to end up jeopardizing anything too important.”

 

Needless to say, it was pretty obvious Winston was worried about something. He was trying his best to hide it but, Winston was never really good at that sort of thing. Hanzo, clearly aware that something wasn’t right, straightened his back out a little bit, with a curious look on his face.

 

“What...documents are you referring to, exactly?” Winston stood frozen for a moment. It was clear that he was hoping he wasn’t going to ask. Winston cleared his throat and spoke in a calm manner, to try and make things seem like they were under control.

 

“...Well, these reports are ones that have to do specifically with a certain monitoring system we’ve been using to keep specific, classified information that has been left out of our reach into our hands. It’s a bit of an unorthodox method but it’s the best we can do for this situation. As of right now, with the information gathered with the monitoring system we’ve been using, there have been gaps in logic and quite a bit of information left out of our-” Hanzo stood up, obviously realizing that Winston was trying to use his large vocabulary to make it seem as if everything was under control. While this sort of method might work on a certain Mr. Fawkes, it most certainly wouldn’t work on Hanzo Shimada.

 

“Winston, I can tell you are not divulging the important details of this situation. What is going on?” Winston began to shift his eyes a little. This was...this was something, alright. Winston was already hoping that nobody else would be here out of fear that he might end up causing unnecessary panic, and this is exactly the type of scenario he was trying to avoid. Winston let out a sigh and began to explain himself.

 

“Alright, I guess I’m not really good at this whole...keeping secrets thing, eh?” Winston gave a short chuckle and a bit of a shrug. Hanzo was not laughing.The gorilla cleared his throat again.

 

“...these documents we’ve been recording, as I’ve already said, have some major inconsistencies. As for what they contain...it’s information on the terrorist group, Talon.” Hanzo furrowed his brow.

 

“And you think-”

 

“I fear that something may be wrong with Athena’s encryption transmitter; That someone is tampering with it.” Hanzo shuffled uneasily, rubbing a hand over the bandage that covered his shoulder wound.

 

“If it will ease your anxiety, I can take a look at the transmitter in question,”

 

“You would-? Er, I mean, thank you. I’ll send another agent up there to help you, shortly,” Hanzo said nothing else, simply offering a curt nod before walking out of the archive and heading up the stairs.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another double update, with special thanks to my friend Ave for helping out with Winston's dialogue!


	9. Chapter 9

If the halls inside the base were ominous and eerie, the atmosphere outside was even moreso. The clouds continued to fight their battle, distant thunder sounding like a war cry. The heavens set aside no sanctuary for the innocent earth, lightning striking down the horizon and rattling the land like a giant drum. Even though Hanzo knew he was built sturdily enough to withstand the wind, it still seemed to threaten him with the hazard of toppling off the roof. And yet, it still had not rained.

 

He scanned the rooftop for the transmitter, finding the lone appliance standing tall amongst air vents and security cameras. Athena’s logo decorated the front of the dish, and glowing wires connected it to the rest of the building. The dim, yellow light it gave off separated it from the sky; Amber against cobalt.

 

From afar, nothing seemed unusual. The appliance whirred with activity up on its concrete pedestal, though most of what could be seen was obscured from the height. Hanzo eyed the situation with disdain, before attempting to scale the structure, his efforts combined with the loud thunder covering the sound of footsteps behind him. 

 

Normally, the gait would be recognized immediately. Slightly lopsided on well-worn cowboy boots, one side heavier than the other, followed by the small, tinny sound of spinning spurs. It was distinct, incredibly distinct, from all the others he had heard before. Yet none of this was picked out over the howling wind. Hanzo’s focus went completely towards the task at hand: scaling the structure that housed the transmitter.

 

All it took for his focus to fall apart was a loud clap of thunder, and his shoulder locking up from the strain. He braced himself for the impact of concrete against bone, for the sickening snap of joints dislocating, for the sound of injury itself. But it never came. All that came of it was a grunt of effort and the skid of metal against the cold roof. He dared to open one of his eyes, finding his face inches away from the surface that had threatened him with a second concussion.

 

Mind addled with confusion, Hanzo moved his gaze to figure out what happened moments prior. His eyes found first a metal arm, thoroughly scuffed from diving to catch him,  a bulletproof piece of chest armor, and bright red fabric draped over the shoulders. He held his breath, time moving at half-pace. Oh, hell-

 

“Shucks, if I knew you were gonna be fallin’ for-” 

 

“If that sentence even remotely starts to resemble a pick up line, I am going to punch you.”

 

It was McCree’s turn to be caught off guard this time, his expression faltering and a slight blush dusting his cheeks.

 

“I- uh, my bad..” Hanzo felt himself being lowered back to the ground, and he arose to dust himself off.

 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a transmitter to look at and assistance to wait for.” He felt around the structure with the toe of his prosthetic leg, searching for a foothold.

 

“I hate to break your heart, honey, but I am the assistance.”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Hanzo turned back towards McCree, brow furrowed and eyes narrowed. It was only then that he noticed the bandages wrapped tight around the man’s right arm- all the way down to the gloved hand. His gaze softened, staring. “What happened to you..?”

 

McCree blinked in surprise, following his eyes’ path to his arm.

 

“It’s, uh, flash burns. I guess it’s what I get for trying to be a hero and dive in front of bombs,” McCree chuckled softly, stopping when he met Hanzo’s confused look. “But, you were there, remember?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hanzo started trying to climb back up to the transmitter, before his path was cut off by the other man climbing up in his place.

 

“Y’mean to tell me you don’t remember a lick of what happened a week ago?” He almost sounded… hurt? For the life of him, Hanzo couldn’t tell exactly why he’d be upset about it.

 

“If there were anything significant enough, I’d be told of it, McCree.” McCree had already made it to the top of the platform, his ridiculous hat outlined in the clouds above them. For just a moment, the storm battle overhead ceased, letting a ray of sunshine through. It fell perfectly behind the silhouette of McCree on the tower, directly overhead, in a way that made Hanzo blink in surprise.

 

“Just ‘Jesse’ is fine.” The man above beamed a smile down at Hanzo, making him freeze. Then, as quickly as the clouds had parted, they closed the hole again. The sky swallowed up the light like a hunger, another battle drum breaking through the air with a flash of lightning. Hanzo stared, wide-eyed.

 

And then, it started to rain.


	10. Chapter 10

The rain fell in heavy drops, something close to bullets. It swallowed sound efficiently, making Hanzo strain to hear anything against the downpour.

 

Jesse McCree. He never put the two names together, nor did he isolate the first to describe the man before him. The man struggling to climb down the concrete structure, and using his hat as an umbrella. The man who called him pet names at every opportunity. The man who sent the letter.

 

As this realization hit him, Hanzo couldn’t help but shout his troubles against the rain.

 

“You went back?!” He yelled to be heard.

 

“I did what now-?!” Jesse yelled back, almost slipping on the precipice. 

 

“You went back to Germany- to Talon, to get my bow!?” Hanzo moved closer to the structure, so that he could be heard better. His bangs had been plastered to his forehead by now, and he could only make guesses at how pitiful he looked now.

 

“Yeah I, I-I couldn’t just leave it behind!” Jesse started to lose his footing. Hanzo splayed his arms out in a gesture of disbelief.

 

“Are you an idiot-!?” His insult was cut off as Jesse fell on top of him, only a short distance, but still enough to knock the wind out of him. He offered a harsh grunt, but was unharmed.

 

“Yeah! I guess I am!” Jesse quickly scrambled off of him, offering a hand to help him up. “I reckon we should head back inside!” Jesse used the serape to shield them from getting drenched further. Hanzo did not answer verbally, simply getting closer to share the serape.

 

“I can’t believe that you went back to get my bow- AND the arrows,” He chided the drenched man beside him, now inside the building, and now having been harassed by a pissed-off Dr. Ziegler. The sterile chill of her clinic did not help against their soaked state, but they had been given towels to dry off with.

 

“I can’t believe you don’t remember anything about what happened after the explosion in Germany,” Jesse looked even scrappier without his hat on, hair ruffled and damp, beard unkempt. He found himself staring longer than necessary at the other man, forcing himself to avert his gaze.

 

“That is usually what the word ‘Amnesia’ implies, isn’t it? What has you all worked up about it anyway?” Hanzo had taken his own ponytail out in favor of drying his hair. It was uncomfortable to have it down in front of someone, it felt unprofessional. 

 

“I-,” Jesse paused, looking uncomfortable himself. “I-I can’t tell you that, right now.” Hanzo blinked, feeling the dragon spirit writhe under his skin at his own confliction. 

 

“Why can’t you-” He cut himself off as the doctor entered the room, looking disgruntled.

 

“...and the gall to walk out in the middle of a thunderstorm, unbelievable. Your injuries aren’t even fully healed yet and you insist on trying to add a cold on top of them.” The kind of fury the petite woman possessed was enough to make any adult crumple down in shame. The man beside him held the same thought, looking even smaller than before in his drenched clothes.

 

“Get yourselves in dry clothes and bundle up for the rest of the day. If you develop cold symptoms see me immediately.” She dismissed them with a wave of the hand, which somehow hurt even more than the scolding had. They shuffled out of the med bay, feeling like children sent off to their room after being grounded.

 

For a moment, the silence between them stretched eons, both wanting more answers than the other could give. It was a terribly familiar, but an uncomfortable feeling; an indefinite stalemate. He felt the dragon spirit hissing in anger, hungry for resolution. Clamping a hand over the head of his tattoo, he finally turned to the other man, who appeared to be having similar conflicts.

 

“Listen, I uh..” Jesse trailed off, glancing over his shoulder.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’ll talk to you about it real soon, I promise, but I’m fixin’ to have a real long chat with Winston.” The metal arm raised up to reveal a small hexagonal disc of sorts, the fingers clamped around the edges of a purple insignia.

 

“Of course.” Hanzo gave a curt nod, opening his mouth to add to it, but deciding against it, and promptly shutting it. Anything else could wait until later. Right now, the primary focus on his mind was changing into something that wouldn’t give him a cold.

 

“Catch ya later,” Jesse gave a small wave as he passed, headed towards Winston’s office.

 

“Wait- aren’t you supposed to be following Dr. Ziegler’s orders?” Hanzo’s comment made him stop in his tracks, and he spun around on his heel with a smug look.

 

“Wouldn’t you be the one wanting me to get undressed?” Almost immediately, Jesse’s expression faltered, as if realizing what he’d said.

 

“That’s not, you- augh-” Hanzo’s face lit up, either out of frustration or embarrassment, before he stormed off to the stairs, heading to his room. To hell with that guy and that tendency to get up in his business. To hell with his ridiculous outfit and that silly hat. And his stupid, goofy grin and those outrageous pet names.

 

He stopped halfway up the stairs, catching his thoughts mid-process and scoffing out loud.

 

Just, fuck that guy.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Memory couldn’t be jogged manually. Hanzo knew that. It must happen on its own, like a river that changes course to adapt to the environment, or changes the environment to better fit its course. It can’t be controlled.

 

Yet here he was, reading and rereading the letter Jesse had sent, trying to find some scrap of memory from their mission two weeks ago. It all escaped him, all except visions of flower petals, and a vague sense of warmth.

 

It’d been a few days since their encounter in the rain, and Hanzo had not seen him since. Whether or not this was aversion on his part or Jesse’s, one could not tell. But the hazy weather overhead had not left, either.

 

After reading the capital letters of Jesse’s writing over for the fifteenth time, he stashed the letter away. He wasn’t remembering anything from it, just how ridiculously made-up the word “cattywampus” sounded, and how much the word “askew” started to look made-up too. He needed to clear his mind before more words began to look like gibberish.

 

By late evening, the base was almost deserted, either because most everyone was asleep already, or had gone off-base for...recreational activities. Hanzo found himself in the archive again. The small, dusty room was an allergy hazard, but at least it was fairly quiet.

 

The only company he found was in the mountains of documents, and the whirring of the ancient AC above his head (the most loyal employee to overwatch, in his opinion). The large window made a mural of the sky outside, reflecting the indoor lights out upon the dark sky; a painting of amber on cobalt.

 

Hanzo began drumming his fingers on the arm of the worn chair, lost in thought. That is, before said thoughts were interrupted by the sliding doors opening to the archive, almost causing him to knock over a tower of documents as he startled. He turned to face the abrupt guest, face slightly flushed from embarrassment, before freezing in his spot.

 

“....Winston said I could find ya in here.” Jesse’s sheepish expression stared back at him, hat tilted across the left side of his head. He clutched a bottle of whiskey in his metal hand, both conspicuous and inconspicuous at the same time. Somehow, the asymmetry of his appearance bothered him more than usual.

 

“The sign said no food or drink in the archive,” Hanzo eyed the bottle with disdain before making eye contact once more. Jesse avoided his gaze.

 

“I wasn’t plannin’ on drinkin’ it here, I was fixin’ to go somewhere else with it,”

 

“What is your business with me?”

 

“Jus’ wanted to talk. Somewhere without pryin’ ears, y’know?”

 

“You and I both know the cameras in here haven’t worked in a long time,”

 

“Well, yeah. But Winston knew ya were in here somehow,” This made Hanzo pause. The cowboy had a point.

 

“...and what purpose does the alcohol serve?”

 

“Trust me, it’s a conversation you’re gonna wanna be drunk for,” Hanzo raised a brow quizzically, but rose from his seat.

 

“Fine. But remove that ridiculous hat, it’s undignified,” Jesse stopped, pointing at his hat to clarify that yes, he meant that hat, before taking it off. A solid two seconds passed before the _look_ of an idea swept across his face, and soon the gaudy hat found itself placed casually upon Hanzo’s head.

 

He glared daggers at the man now losing his shit in front of him, complete with knee-slapping, a wheezy laugh, and that stupid, goofy grin of his. Jesse found it hilarious. Hanzo found it slightly less than funny. He went tight-lipped, pressing ahead and walking out of the archive, but simply pretending the hat wasn’t there at all.

 

“I’m startin’ to think you wear that better’n I do,” Jesse finally spoke up after gaining his composure on the walk to… wherever Hanzo was going. He simply followed behind, still occasionally chuckling.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Hanzo kept his arms crossed, otherwise a serious and imposing figure- if it weren’t for the cowboy hat that sat slightly oversized on top of his head.

 

“No really, I think it suits ya”

 

“Don’t be foolish, I’m only entertaining this so that you aren’t wearing it,”

 

“Ouch, that breaks my heart,” Jesse rubbed his face in mock hurt, but Hanzo simply brushed it off. He fumbled around for his room card while the other man wiped a non-existent tear from his eye. The sight of the room card, however, brought him out of his pantomime.

 

“Wearin’ my hat an’ bringing me to your room, what _will_ the tabloids be sayin’?”

 

“I have cups, you have drink, and you wanted to talk. There is nothing for the ‘tabloids’ to say.”

 

“That’s what you think.”

 

Hanzo scoffed loudly, ushering him in with an unmatched urgency. He just wanted to figure out what happened, and for this to be over as soon as possible. Not that Jesse was the worst person to have rumors about with, but he was frustrating to talk to. Getting a serious conversation out of southern idioms and excessive flirtations was hard enough without desperately wanting to know something out of it.

 

Jesse chose one of the cushions next to the cheap coffee table, trying hard to get comfortable. For just a moment, Hanzo was able to get a good look at him, now that he was no longer wearing the hat. The dark, chestnut-colored hair was surprisingly well cared for, falling in wavy locks around the man’s jaw. The beard, however, was a tousled mess.

 

Hanzo caught himself staring entirely too long, picking up the sake cups to rinse them out as a distraction.

 

“Y’know, I didn’t expect ya to be wearin’ my hat this long,”

 

“You will get it back when you leave,”

 

“I’m startin’ to think you just like wearin’ it,”

 

“You would do well to stop talking about it,” Hanzo made his way back to the coffee table, cradling two small cups in his hands. He settled across from Jesse, placing the cups on the table and assuming a gaunt expression.

 

“Now, fill in the gaps in my memory,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm changing my update schedule to once a week, now that I'm finally running out of steam. Aside from general writer's block, my beta readers have stopped responding, so my backlog of chapters is going to be substantially shortened. Please understand, and have patience. Thank you.


	12. Chapter 12

The first shot was fine. The whiskey burned much more than anything he was used to. Jesse explained about the explosion and getting caved in.

 

The second shot was okay. The sting of the alcohol had started to lose its potent burn, instead leaving his throat feeling smooth, but hot. Jesse started talking about the concussion and how dizzy Hanzo had been.

 

By the third shot, Hanzo started to get tipsy. In the dim light, the whiskey looked the same color as Athena’s yellow glow on the transmitter. Jesse started talking about the… heat sharing that happened in Germany. 

 

At four shots, he still had shame. Shame enough to avoid the other man’s eyes as he kept talking. The heat in his cheeks was from alcohol and embarrassment, nothing more, nothing less. Jesse looked much better off. He was fine.

 

At five shots, that shame was gone. He was drunk.

 

“So, you mean to tell me,” Hanzo started, face still serious as ever despite the blush, “You knew I had a concussion and did nothing to keep me awake?”

 

“You’re acting as if I didn’t try to,” Jesse poured himself a sixth shot, stopping to notice Hanzo’s inebriated state. “No amount of pokin’ and proddin’ would wake ya up, even tried name-callin’, but hell, you were already out,”

 

“Jesse, it might’ve been what caused the amnesia in the first place,”

 

“What was I s’pose to do? Shake ya? Like hell I was goin’ to be doin’ that.” Jesse downed the sixth shot, setting aside his cup. Hanzo bit his tongue. 

 

“Besides,” Jesse turned back to look Hanzo in the eyes. “part of me thinks you didn’t really wanna remember it, anyway.” Hanzo tore his gaze away to stare at his empty cup. The small portion of whiskey inside reflected the night sky from the window, and the specks of light from his dim room. Amber on cobalt.

 

“...if I didn’t, you wouldn’t be in my room, sharing a drink over it,” Hanzo spoke up after moments that felt entirely too long, voice husky and low from the burn in his throat. “It almost seems like you yourself wanted to forget.” 

 

It was Jesse’s turn to look embarrassed, and he fit the part well. Shuffling his feet uncomfortably, averting his gaze. Under the table, his leg brushed against Hanzo’s own, making him tense up.

 

“It’s uh, it’s not quite like that,” Jesse rubbed the back of his neck, metal hand fiddling with the rim of his empty cup. Hanzo gave an exasperated sigh and closed his eyes, slightly frustrated for unknown reasons. By the time he opened them again, Jesse had poured his seventh shot of whiskey.

“How many organs of yours do you try to poison at once?” 

 

“‘m fine, not much of a lightweight, so this ain’t gonna kill me.” Jesse downed the shot, looking more quiet and thoughtful than at the beginning of the night. It was a startling difference, one that made Hanzo feel rather uneasy. 

 

“I think that this is where I intervene,” He stood up from his spot, shifting to take the half-empty bottle away from the gloved hand clasped around its neck. “You’ve had enough,”

 

“Wh- Hey!” The sudden shout was followed by an unusually physical display of refusal from Jesse, as he reached out to grab Hanzo’s forearm. The purpose was to stop him from taking the bottle, but the tight grip forced his reflexes to kick in without restraint.

 

Immediately, his hand had a fistful of flannel, balled up in the other man’s shirt in a show of aggression. However, once the initial reaction was triggered, he just froze. Their foreheads were almost touching, the brim of the hat on Hanzo’s head was close enough to prop up one side of Jesse’s bangs out of the way. Both were staring each other down, but not out of hostility.

 

Jesse’s eyes were a warm amber, and full of a perplexing emotion that Hanzo could not give a name to- or rather, did not want to name. They were too close, it was as uncomfortable as every other time. But the haziness of the whiskey-induced stupor brought thoughts of a million tempting things he could do in this moment, and a million different ways to do them. The moment lasted an agonizingly long time, running images over and over through his mind and forcing him to witness it like a 16x slowed-down shameful movie being rewound to the beginning.

 

Disgusted with himself, Hanzo released the man’s shirt and shuffled away to hide the flush on his face (which he knew for certain wasn’t just alcohol related by now). Jesse sat in a bewildered and flustered heap on the floor, more confused than anything else.

 

“I think it’s best if you were to go to your room to sleep this off, before I tell Dr. Ziegler we were drinking while on prescribed medicine.”

 

“W-what was-”

 

“Please, just go… for your sake.” Hanzo dropped the hat on top of the whiskey bottle, scooting them both towards Jesse as a last parting plea. He did not turn around until well after the door had opened, then clicked shut.

 

He held his hands in such tight fists that his knuckles turned white. A throbbing headache had started to take form in his skull as the beginnings of a hangover, bringing him into the present moment. 

 

The table. He had to clean up.

 

Even as his mind was starting to clear and he’d started to rinse out the sake cups, he kept seeing blue flowers manifesting in the back of his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to my new beta-reader, who helped me clean up this chapter.
> 
> EDIT: Their ao3 is honey_you_should!


	13. Chapter 13

Two weeks had passed. Autumn had started to sweep into the base, adding a more thorough chill to the air. And much like the cold now present in the halls, Hanzo’s distance from everyone grew. Conversations were scarce, and often abandoned mid-progress in favor of isolating himself in this living quarters. Concerns were raised and eventually voiced.

 

“Mr. Shimada, please come to the clinic for a final check-up at 3:00 PM,” Dr. Ziegler’s stern but gentle voice rang through the comm system next to Hanzo’s door. “If you fail to show up, I’ll have your hot water turned off.” This last remark dragged the disgruntled archer out of bed, who had managed to sleep well past sunrise for the first time in months. Whatever medications she’d put him on were giving him better sleep than ever - at the cost of making him oversleep.

 

A glance at the soft blue screen beside the door filled him with a subtle dread. 2:34 PM.

 

Twenty minutes later, after a hasty shower and a half-assed attempt at looking decent, Hanzo found himself in the clinic. His still-damp hair was in a messy ponytail, and the shorter locks were just beginning to dry, falling loose. He’d dressed similarly casual, with a sleeveless top and sweatpants. It screamed ‘tired’. Thankfully, there was no one in the clinic to see his ragged appearance.

 

Or, so he’d thought. Stepping into the back section of the med bay revealed another check-up in progress. Dr. Ziegler was examining a shirtless patient, tenderly observing a raw patch of scar tissue that seemed to cut into the surrounding tan skin on the person’s right arm. She did not address Hanzo directly, instead waving him over to an adjacent seat as she left to retrieve something.

 

The stranger wasn’t recognizable immediately. His eyes trailed up the scar until the sight of a prosthetic left arm came into view. Oh, hell. 

 

He said nothing, averting his gaze from Jesse and hoping the aloofness of the gesture was enough to discourage a conversation. 

 

It was not.

 

“Oh, howdy. I didn’t notice ya walk in,” the casual greeting was met with silence from Hanzo, who was busy pretending that peroxide was the most interesting thing in the room. His eyes scanned over the list of warnings, not really even reading. Jesse continued talking without him.

 

“Was wonderin’ if you were doin’ alright, Genji was real worried over ya. Said you don’t really shut yourself up like that. I thought that I might’ve really ups-” The one-sided conversation was cut short as Dr. Ziegler returned to the room, papers in hand. The air was soon filled with ramblings of proper care for wounds, warnings, and assorted jargon that Hanzo could hardly follow.

 

Within a few minutes, however, she wrapped up her check-up with Jesse. As he passed Hanzo, Jesse gave a gentle pat on the tattooed shoulder, startling the distracted archer.

 

“Take care, ya hear? We can talk if you need to,” The mumbled remark trailed off into quiet as Jesse left the clinic, leaving Hanzo to watch the patchy scar as it disappeared from his view. The doctor’s sudden clap brought Hanzo back to the present.

 

“If you are still unable to focus, then it is a very troubling sign, Mr. Shimada,”

 

“...My apologies, Doctor, I was merely distracted,” His face flushed slightly from the reprimand, among other things.

 

* * *

  
  


By the time his check-up was over, the base’s halls were bustling with activity. Footsteps he could put a name to, and unfamiliar gaits mingled among them. A handful of agents returned from their posts, if only temporarily. More agents still had come out of the woodwork to rejoin the organization. It was beginning to get cramped. 

 

Hanzo wasn’t used to having neighbors on his floor. Lena’s abandoned room next to his became occupied once more, filling the nights with muffled English rock music and deep bass tones. A Chinese climatologist took up the room directly across from him, but never seemed suited for long conversation. A trait he soon deemed respectable.

 

Zenyatta returned from Nepal, and could almost never be found without Genji following close behind him. A recruit named Aleksandra caused a stir with the rest of the agents, who eventually warmed up to her. There was hardly a quiet moment anymore.

 

As he reflected upon this, Hana and Lúcio raced past him in the hallway, wild with laughter. Hanzo clutched his medical papers to his chest to keep them from flying away, surprised and a little annoyed. What followed behind them - even more annoyed and out of breath - almost made him laugh, however.

 

Jesse was jarringly hatless. And also red in the face. He looked utterly flustered and pissed off at the same time. Hanzo held a hand over his mouth, unable to contain the amused smile that made its way to his lips. Jesse turned to him after a few moments of huffing, holding his arms out in the universal gesture of ‘can you believe this shit?’.

 

“If you see a child about ye high, naruto whiskers on her face, shit-eating grin,” he paused for a breath, “tell that hat thief she’s getting her ass kicked.” He leaned over, hands on his knees, panting.

 

Hanzo let slip a little chuckle, before the sound of warped blips cut him off. He caught sight of blue light in front of the utility closet, accompanied by distorted laughter. He barely had a few seconds to process this before a force pushed him from behind, sending him tumbling into the man before him.

 

Papers and cleaning supplies went flying as they barreled into the utility closet. A really fake cowboy accent rang behind them.

 

“Howdy pardner!” Lena’s voice devolved into laughter as she raced off.

  
  


“Ya damn kids- Gimme my hat back!” Jesse half-yelled, half-grumbled from underneath him. Hanzo dared to open an eye, finding Jesse’s face startlingly close to his own. Immediately, his cheeks flushed as he froze in place.

 

“....We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, Han.”

 

“Agreed,” embarrassed, Hanzo quickly picked himself off of the other man. Jesse sat up with a grunt, cursing under his breath as Hanzo gathered up his papers. He decidedly tried to stop his mind from wandering past what just happened, instead focusing on getting back to his room.

 

Wishing him luck on getting his hat back and bidding him farewell, Hanzo hurriedly shuffled past Jesse and down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the end of my stash of chapters ^ ^;;


	14. Chapter 14

_ Jesse fought off the burning heat, desperately fanning himself with his hat. He was almost certain that his skin had been burnt by overbearing sun by now. The weather was unforgiving, no clouds to be seen in the sky. The only comfort he could find was in the distraction of conversation and company. _

 

_ Surrounding him were friends, he was sure. They were familiar, yet indistinct. Their faces were blocked out in his memory, and all were dressed in a similar fashion to his own attire. They were close, he thinks. _

 

_ Jesse turned to the scrappy figure beside him, only a teenager. He was stick thin, and looked ragged. It was clear that a good meal wasn’t always in the daily schedule. The tattoo displayed on the other’s shoulder stopped him short, made his eye throb with pain. He had to turn away. _

 

_ All the while, the sun threatened to swallow him whole. _

 

Bright blue light forced Jesse awake, the glow from the panel next to his door washing over the room. It stung his eyes, and made him squint. The LEDs wrote out 3:12 AM, entirely too early for someone to be trying to contact him. He turned over to try and ignore them, and go back to sleep.

 

Winston’s voice coming from the screen made him groan in frustration. That’s one person that he can’t ignore.

 

“Agent McCree, please meet in my office as soon as possible for a mission briefing.” The light cut off. Once more, Jesse found himself bathed in the comfort of the dark, sleep threatening to take him hostage. But orders were orders, even if they were demanding him in the ungodly hours of the morning.

 

There he found himself, standing tired and uncomfortable in the awkward silence of the office. The gorilla mentioned someone else arriving, though that was the only thing that stuck out in his drowsy mind. Everything else melted into words and noise. It was way too early for this.

 

Jesse’s gloved hand picked at the worn rubber grip on his thermos, waiting for the coffee to kick in. He glanced at the clock, sluggish and impatient. 3:34 AM. Whoever they were waiting on certainly loved to take their time getting ready. An exchanged look with Winston made it clear that he was almost thinking the same thing.

 

The door opening interrupted his thoughts, and caused him to chip off a piece of the grip that he was fiddling with earlier. He stood up straight, using both hands to hold the thermos. Jesse wasn’t quite sure who he expected to be paired up with for this mission, but it certainly wasn’t him.

 

Yet there Hanzo stood, presenting himself with an unmatched air of grace, despite the tired look on his face. Everything about him was clean-pressed, and if it weren’t for the dark circles under his eyes, you’d have never guessed that he just rolled out of bed. The archer’s serious expression faltered when he caught a look at Jesse, who tipped his hat in greeting. 

 

His gaze shifted from Jesse’s face, down to the thermos, then back up to his face, with a sort of scathing scrutiny that needn’t be spoken out loud.  _ Caffeine addict,  _ he mouthed.

 

“Ahem,” Winston cleared his throat, catching the attention of the other two. “I won’t waste time, I know I called you two at an unreasonable hour.” Jesse glanced at Hanzo with a raised eyebrow, as if to question about the insult from earlier.

 

“I’ve reached out to a potential contact to get more information about Talon.” Hanzo looked back, furrowing his brow in a way that gave further emphasis to what he mouthed. Winston continued talking.

 

“I’m sending you two to Barcelona, to meet with the contact ‘Ambros’.” This stopped the non-verbal banter short.

 

“Wait, what,” Jesse blinked, looking on in slight disbelief.

 

“Mr. Shimada here has a history in working with underground businesses, and considering that Ambros’ work is likely illegal, I think this will make it go smoothly.” Winston adjusted his glasses.

 

“Hanzo, I can understand. But why me?” Jesse took on a more than displeased look, brow furrowed with perplexity. 

 

“You speak Spanish.”

 

“With all due respect, sir, European Spanish is just a tad different than Mexican Spanish,”

 

“You are the only agent on base who can understand and translate a form of Spanish, McCree.” Jesse opened his mouth to protest, but shut it. He took on a pout instead, looking more like a disappointed child than an Overwatch agent.

 

“Yes, sir.” He heard a stifled chuckle beside him, looking to find Hanzo covering his mouth with a hand. He would’ve been pissed off at that, if it weren’t kind of endearing. Jesse’s face flushed slightly.

 

“Your transport is waiting on the tarmac, further details have been prepared for you.”

 

The two gave a curt nod to Winston, before promptly exiting his office.

 

“What was that gigglin’ for?” Jesse turned to Hanzo once they’d gotten a good distance down the hallway and out of earshot.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hanzo still kept his arms folded, having returned to the stony seriousness he always possessed.

  
  


“You were havin’ some kinda giggle fit back there.”

 

“You just look amusing when you’re scolded.”

 

“What’s that s’pose to mean?” Hanzo dismissed it with a wave of the hand, leaving Jesse to huff and wonder.

 


	15. Chapter 15

 

Three nights, a set budget, and an assigned meeting place at the shadiest produce shop in Spain. The details of the mission barely made a dent in the hazy mind of one particularly distracted outlaw. The small text on the screen of the phone, which had been given to him as a temporary communicator, didn’t help the comprehension at all, either. After the fourth failed attempt to memorize the schedule planned by Winston, Jesse heaved a sigh that was usually saved for the more complex days.

 

It was more awkward than anything else. Under normal circumstances, Jesse could read an atmosphere and ride with it like the social butterfly he was. But this was leagues more complicated than what he was used to. Hanzo’s body language said absolutely nothing, and his signals were more mixed than pancake batter.

 

It was not that he was hard to read. No, not at all. He was simply  _ illegible _ . 

 

The phone in Jesse’s hand vibrated with a message from an unknown number, ceasing his momentary frustration.

 

> >Test.

 

He adjusted his hat before leaning back into the lumpy plane seat, and typing out a quick reply.

 

> **< Hanzo?**
> 
> >Yes.

 

He snuck a look over at the other man in the plane, whose face was solely focused on the phone in his own lap. Jesse saved the contact into his own phone before typing out a quick reply to him.

 

> **< Saved the contact. I hope “Grumpy Ponytail” sounds alright to you.**

 

A quick glance at the seat beside him revealed Hanzo slowly typing letter by letter, with his face screwed up into an expression of discontent. Moments later, a buzz came from the phone in Jesse’s hand.

 

> >Absolutely not.

 

He stifled a chuckle with his gloved hand, receiving a narrow-eyed glare illuminated by the light of a phone. The stare lasted a few moments before Hanzo turned back to his screen, messing with something that Jesse couldn’t get a good look at from his seat. His phone buzzed in his hand again, shortly after. It was a screenshot, showing Hanzo’s set contact name for him. It read “cowman”.

 

> **< Hey Now**
> 
> >Change mine to Hand so
> 
> >*Hanzo
> 
> **< Gotcha**

 

Jesse sent a screenshot of the contact info, which had the name set as “Hand so”.

 

> >Disrespectful.
> 
> >Fix it.

 

He sent another screenshot, this time having changed it to just “Hands”. It took all the willpower within him to keep from laughing.

 

> >I cannot believe this.
> 
> >I’m going to blank you.
> 
> >*block
> 
> **< wait no dont**

 

He corrected the contact, sending the new screenshot to Hanzo. He glanced over at him, whose face didn’t look as annoyed as he thought he would be. In fact, he could notice a small smile being forced down. Another notification from the phone made him look back to the screen. A screenshot from Hanzo’s phone, which misspelled Jesse’s name in the contact as “Jessie McGee”. He snorted.

> **< i know you did not just spell my name as jessie mcgee**
> 
> **< you know how its spelled hanzo**
> 
> >So?
> 
> **< lord have mercy**
> 
> >How do I turn autocorrect off

 

Jesse started typing out a lengthy reply, before stopping himself and erasing the text instead.

 

“I can just do it for you.” He turned towards Hanzo, holding out his hand.   
  
“...Please do.” The exchange was very brief. He felt the touch of the other’s hand for barely a moment before it quickly drew back, leaving the phone behind. It caught him slightly by surprise, but he blinked and shook it off. He could worry about that kind of stuff later.

 

“Now, don’t tell me that you don’t know how to work a phone.” Jesse set to work combing through the settings on the device, looking for the autocorrect options. Hanzo chuffed beside him.

 

“I’m only thirty-eight. How ancient do you think I am?” Hanzo crossed his arms, looking half offended, but also half amused.

 

“I just find it hard to believe a yakuza prince in the year 2070 would have problems figuring out things on his phone.” Jesse passed the phone back to the other man, having configured the settings. Their fingers brushed slightly again, but this time it was even more short-lived. Hanzo’s body language made him seem almost skittish, but his speech was relaxed and comfortable. It was puzzling.

 

“They’re frivolous. I’ve had no use for them.” Hanzo’s expression was more focused now, which was made noticeable from the glow of the phone in front of him as he messed with the settings.

 

“Wouldn’t ya need it in order to talk to clients or whatever it was your family did?” Jesse removed his hat momentarily to scratch at his scalp, facing towards the other man.

 

“I don’t need to discuss the family business.” The light of the phone disappeared with the click of a small button, plunging the plane into darkness once more.

 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up your past like that.” He shifted uncomfortably, unnerved by the sudden awkward and heavy atmosphere. Hanzo only gave a displeased grunt to the apology. The silence made everything even more tense. Jesse balled up his fists into the fabric over his knees and fidgeted with a loose thread to distract himself. 

 

“...So uh, what do you think this Ambros person is going to be like?” He tried to start up conversation again, trying to hide his uneasiness.

 

“Hopefully, a stranger to small talk.” Hanzo’s feet shuffled audibly beside him, bringing the feeling of a cold metal prosthetic leg brushing up against his own.

 

“...Is that some kinda hint, Han?” The leg hadn’t moved. He figured that Hanzo could not feel much past his knees, otherwise he would’ve moved away by now. A beat passed.

 

“I am being entirely transparent.” Hanzo stated, sounding almost matter-of-fact about it.

 

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” Jesse raised a brow at him, which went unseen in the dark.

 

“I don’t understand. I’m always sincere.” Another audible shuffle beside him; he’d crossed his arms this time.

 

“I think that’s bull-honkey.”

 

“I think that’s not a real word.”

 

“I think…” Jesse paused, struggling with a comeback. “...I think that it doesn’t matter. ‘Cause it’s bull-honkey.”

 

“Jesse, half of the time, I wish I had a glossary to understand what you’re saying.” This made Jesse’s face flush with discomposure. Thankfully, that too, went unseen in the dark.

 

“...I gave you one of ‘em already, you want more words?”

 

“I will consider the offer.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I overslept.

Jesse never expected Spain to be so overwhelmingly humid. The heat, he’d anticipated and prepared for. But even though it was very early in the morning when they finally landed, he felt like a steamed vegetable here. It definitely caught him off guard after he’d adjusted to the cool and dry climate of the Overwatch headquarters.

 

Hanzo was frighteningly unphased by it. He had pulled on a long-sleeved button-up and rolled it up to his elbows. It was an unusual look for him, even if the clean and tidy ponytail remained part of his outfit. It scared Jesse somewhat; he should be boiling alive in this weather and yet he didn’t see a drop of sweat on him.

 

“I swear you must be some kinda supernatural being or somethin’.” Jesse muttered halfway through the taxi ride to the hotel. The car had been utterly silent up until then.

 

“Why?” Hanzo sounded slightly startled, having been dragged out of his own wandering thoughts.

 

“Half-shirtless in the cold, overdressed in the heat. It’s downright scary.” Jesse turned his head towards the window and watched the cityscape whizz by.

 

“To think that endurance is the one thing to frighten an outlaw,” The archer huffed. “Who would’ve thought?”

 

“It ain’t normal, that’s all.”

 

“Neither is your fixation with coffee.”

 

“That’s different. I’m just not a high-energy person.” He shifted in his seat, propping up his chin with the knuckles of his metal hand.

 

“Hm.” The conversation ended with the sharp hum of judgement from Hanzo. Fortunately, the eeriness of the premature quiet didn’t last for long, as the taxi neared its destination.

  
  


Hanzo thumbed through his pocket, looking for the credit card that they were given for use in Barcelona. A few moments passed before his fingers found the plastic card and handed it over the hotel counter. It wasn’t the most luxurious place in Spain, but it was better than sleeping under a highway overpass. 

 

Impatient fingers drummed on the fake marble. Quiet, but anxious. His eyes wandered to the patchy carpet, then the vintage bell on the counter, then the clock on the wall that was twelve minutes too slow. When the low voice of the receptionist finally eased some discomfort, he thanked her and went back outside to collect their luggage.

 

The cowboy had vanished, much to Hanzo’s chagrin. As much as he claimed he was laid-back, Jesse still managed to boast a certain amount of mischief.  _ This,  _ He thought,  _ this is what’s going to make this assignment unbearable. _

 

His eyes scanned the parking lot for the luggage cart that Jesse had been loading minutes prior, spotting it a few meters away from the front doors. Their bags had been loaded, thankfully, but it sat unmonitored.

 

“Jesse?” There was no direct answer. The bustle of the city went on, paying no attention to him. A bitterness rose in his throat, but he forced it down and focused on the task at hand.

 

Hanzo heard nearby conversation as he neared the luggage cart. The words were foreign to him, yet he could pick out the mood from the voices. One was unfamiliar, higher pitched, bubbly, and flustered. The other deep, slower and smooth, like honey dripping from a spoon. The voices’ owners were obscured by a couple taller cars, but Hanzo could already make a guess at what was going on. He audibly scoffed, and strode forward to drag his colleague away.

 

His steps were deliberately loud against the pavement, and while it didn’t appear all that loud to anyone else, it almost pained him to be anything other than silence. It seemed to catch their attention, if only slightly. There was a brief falter in Jesse’s voice but he ultimately did not stop with his flirtations. As soon as the two came into sight, the cowboy was being dragged away by the shirt.

 

“Ow- wh- hey!” Jesse stumbled with the sudden momentum, genuinely surprised by the amount of force the shorter man carried with a single arm. Hanzo paid him no heed until they returned to the luggage cart. He felt the bitterness in his throat again, forming venom in the shape of words. He did not stop it this time.

 

“I hope you realize that we still have an objective to complete and frivolous pursuits will not be tolerated with what little time we have.” He narrowed his eyes to emphasize the sting, catching Jesse off guard.

 

“H-hey, partner, I was jus’ tryin’ta sweet talk some info outta that lil’ lady over there! An’ lemme tell ya, she was gushing words like a stream in summer, I tell ya…” Only when Jesse raised his hands in defense did Hanzo let down his guard and release the flannel shirt in his hand.

 

“Perhaps next time you should utilize the phones we’ve been entrusted with to inform me of what you’re doing instead of leaving our possessions unguarded and flirting with a local.” Hanzo felt an unknown emotion form alongside the subtle heat on his cheeks. 

 

“Sure thing, I’ll tell ya next time..” Something clicked in Jesse’s mind, and Hanzo swore he could almost see the lightbulb turning on above his head. “...wait,” Jesse smirked slightly, “ya aren’t jealous, are ya?”

 

“Do you always waste so much time thinking about such trivial matters?” Hanzo rolled his eyes and began wheeling the luggage cart into the hotel. The younger man’s chuckling continued to follow behind him.

 

“I knew it! You’re jealous.” 

 

“I’m starting to have a hard time believing you’re an adult. Be serious.” Hanzo moved into the elevator, shifting to press the button reading ‘5’, before being intercepted by a gloved hand swiping across the whole row of buttons. His death glare met the shit-eating grin of his colleague beside him as he broke his normally emotionless front.

 

“ _ Are you fucking kidding me. _ ”

 

“Nope! I’m totally serious. Like ya told me to be.”

 

“Jesse McCree, if you make it out of this elevator alive by the time we reach our floor, I’m going to shove you out a window.” The elevator dinged a joyful chime, starting its ascent to the first floor.


End file.
